Fate Daze Clockwork
by Magnetic Phoenix
Summary: The magi in Fuyuki aren't the only ones who desire the power of the Grail. Far beneath their notice, a new war has sprung up. Who's behind it? And why does something seem to off about it all? Only time will tell...  My first attempt at serious fanfiction
1. Chapter 1: Incipit Bellum

In the dead of night, the clash of steel against steel rang out like thunder, the motions of the fighters the lightning. A blurred green shape moved at speeds which the human eye could not track, while across from it darted something which could not be described beyond the furious shouts it emitted. The two forces collided once again, sending sparks into the sky from the meeting of their weapons. They continued to move, skidding across the battlefield so that they had returned to where the other had charged from.

The green blur, now distinguishable as what was really a man wearing green robes, still kept a tense stance as he turned to face his foe. The wind caused by their motions still caused the looser parts of his outfit to billow wildly, along with his magnificent brown beard. His hands tightly held onto a large halberd-like weapon, and his stance was that of a man who knew how to win his battles. His face, contrasting his warrior-like pose, seemed tranquil.

Opposite to him a good fifty meters away stood the other blur. When still, it could clearly be seen to be a man. Unlike the almost ceremonial garments of his adversary, this man wore little save for a large fur, wrapped around his legs as if a kilt, and going down to his feet, which bore the only other article of clothing on him in the form of mail boots. Aside from those, his pale, muscular body was completely exposed to the night's chilling embrace. Despite this, he appeared to be in no discomfort; rather, the upward curving of his lips suggested he was enjoying himself.

The muscular man let out a sort of mocking laughter. As he did so, he "sheathed" the massive blade he carried into the grass he stood on. The sound, deep and powerful, mingled with the howl of the same wind that toyed with the man's blonde hair. The robed man displayed no visible reaction to this gesture of casualty.

"I guess you're tougher than that dress you wear lets on, aye Lancer?" he yelled following up his laughter. Once again, his opponent did as much as twitch, let alone respond. They waited for several minutes, Lancer never moving more than a centimeter at a time, the other leisurely awaiting some kind of reaction.

"Very well, I guess a fight's always more entertaining than small-talk anyway. " With that, he once again became little more than a howling blur. Despite his superhuman agility, Lancer still waited for the last possible moment to dodge the charge, like a matador sidestepping a bull. The blonde-haired warrior, seeing the evasive maneuver, quickly launched himself towards the deep blue, star-filled sky above them. As he landed, his blade bit into the ground where Lancer had been standing a moment ago, the raw force of the impact shaking the vicinity and wounding the earth with a deep gash.

Lancer was not a person who wasted opportunities. The moment he spotted the opening left by his enemy effectively depositing his weapon in dirt, he moved to strike. The distance he had put between himself and his foe, so that he could avoid the previous attack, he closed in a fraction of a second. His weapon, held with masterful skill, darted like a striking viper towards exposed flesh.

Lancer had struck the perfect blow… yet his effort was fruitless. Although he certainly knew that just because his enemy lacked armor, in no way meant he was unprotected, he certainly did not anticipate this.

When the steel of his weapon met the white skin of its intended victim, it drew no blood. In fact, it did little more than leave a red mark where the tip moved across his skin, as if deflected. The blonde warrior seemed to barely notice he'd been attacked as he tore his blade from the ground and swung it in a mighty arc. Fortunately for Lancer, surprised had not caused him to dull his reflexes. He quickly spun around the massive polearm so that its shaft met and blocked the incoming blow. The power behind the swing of the sword struck hard against the shaft, knocking the wind out of Lancer's lungs and causing his stance to slip ever so slightly.

It was enough of a slip. The swordsman quickly seized the opening and launched a counter-attack, which Lancer avoided only though hurling his body to the side. He would not get a chance to recover; seeing Lancer sprawled on the grass, his adversary quickly brought down his blade so that the tip of it was neatly pointing at Lancer's face, which by now seemed nowhere as calm as it once had.

"You know, if might not have turned out like this if you weren't so serious about one of us killing the other." He mused, twirling a lock of his add to his insultingly relaxed tone. "But I guess it was going to come to this at some point in the war. Better to get it over with sooner than later, aye?"

And with that said, he lunged.

"No, I don't think anything is going to be decided this soon."

The voice, coming from behind the sword-wielding warrior, caused him in to pause in the middle of delivering the fatal blow. He was indeed quite surprised, as a new addition to the battle changed everything. He half-turned so that he could both keep an eye on his pinned-down enemy and observe the newcomer. As he did so, he did not see a person, or even the field on which he'd been battling, but rather a blinding flash of light.

A moment later, the tables had turned as he lay pinned down on the ground while Lancer was once again on his feet. He could not even properly discern _what_ was pinning him down, as he could still see little beyond a radiance that seemed to envelop him.

The stranger's voice rang out again, this time calling out an incantation the swordsman wasn't particularly inclined to interpret. The light which surrounded him seemed to shrink and become more solid, and soon enough he could glimpse what resembled a golden, ethereal wolf snarling over him.

He believed he understood well enough what was going on, and more importantly, he soon realized the beast holding him down wasn't particularly strong when it didn't have the element of surprise. He lifted himself off the cold, dewy grass, the 'wolf' dissolving into magical energy as it impacted the ground after being thrown. He once again turned his attention to where the strange voice had come from, his sword held with the intention to kill.

Next to Lancer, who once again held a skillful combat stance, stood the newcomer. The wind itself seemed to be milking the dramatic effect of the situation, for it blew in a way that caused his long hair and trenchcoat to dance wildly in the breeze. Even the several metal chains around his neck made a soft ringing sound as they lightly brushed against each other. His face, one of age and experience, appeared fierce as his eyes stared down the swordsman.

"So, the poor little puppy needs his master to bail him out? How do you expect to win the war like that?" he blond man shouted, obviously trying to goad the so called 'master'.

"None of your concern, Saber," the old man responded coolly. His referring to him by that name seemed to amuse the man who, appropriately enough, was brandishing a sword. "Lancer, we're finished here, understood?"

Lancer bowed and answered with a respectful "Yes, Master," but Saber did not appear dissuaded. Twirling his sword in his hands as if it were a child's toy, he casually stepped towards the pair.

"Come on now, what do you have to fear? It's two against one, isn't it? This should be easy enough for you!" Saber said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

Rather than giving a response in words, Lancer's master swiftly made a sign with his hands, as if he was making a cat gesture to Saber. Some words were quickly uttered, and another surge of radiance pierced Saber's retinas like hot knives. Three of the wolves appeared before him, glowing teeth bared and ghostly claws raised as they leapt towards their prey.

It took Saber but one mighty swing of his sword to dismiss them, but his enemies had bought all the time they needed. Lancer, carrying his master around the waist, leapt into the distant horizon, moving so quickly even Saber's unnatural speed would not be enough to keep up with him.

"Tch, cowards." Saber grunted, idly impaling the ground his sword and leaning on the pommel. His eyes and left hand went to his side, where Lancer had tried and failed to deliver a decisive blow. The stroked the scratch-mark with his fingers, pleased that it didn't as much as sting. "At least I'll have something interesting to report," he thought out loud. With that, he picked up his sword once more, only for it to suddenly vanish into the nether. Saber started walking leisurely in the direction opposite to the one his enemies had fled towards, humming an old chant he recalled from his youth long ago.

The night was much less lively in the town than it had been in the now-empty field not far from it. Aside from scattered street lamps, there was little light, as the occupants of every little home that littered the sidewalks had by this hour already given into the sweet allure of sleep. This made the sight of a seemingly Asian man, wearing ornamental forest-green robes and carrying a clearly deadly weapon, even more unusual, but it also meant there was little risk of anyone actually seeing him. Anyone besides his equally unusual companion, who appeared exhausted now despite not having been the one to engage in melee combat.

"I apologize, Master." Lancer said in a low voice, so as not to alert anyone of their presence, "I failed my duty as your servant by requiring your protection."

"You definitely have. But don't go getting suicidal about it. You're still my servant, and I still have every reason to believe we'll win this war," the master replied, walking briskly along-side him. His head was tilted upwards, gazing at the majestic sky through the locks of unkempt gray hair that invaded his field of vision.

"I will not disappoint your beliefs," Lancer said, trying to assure his master today's events were a fluke. After all, this had happened only because he did not anticipate his enemy's level of defense. He still recalled well the feeling as he attempted to impale the exposed skin of that strange foe. It felt rather like striking a rock with a dull knife: his flesh had easily resisted a blow from a weapon that would have easily ripped apart metal armor.

Of course, he had known that his foe was, like himself, no mere man. They were both something beyond, something much more powerful. They were, in a way, living legends. Embodiments of ancient heroes, their true identities having long ago faded, replaced by characters in epic tales. Men who had surpassed their fellow men to become paragons of their time, now called upon to serve humanity once more. Heroic Spirits.

However, this alone did not explain much. Even among their own kind, protection of the caliber displayed by Saber's mere skin was still considered unnatural. Even the most durable of Heroic Spirits would, under normal circumstances, still be cut open by a well-delivered blow, although the actual damage such a wound would cause is debatable.

The one he had fought had something beyond the mere endurance inherent to his status as an ancient hero. He had possessed a mysterious power. A power borne of the facts and myths which intermingled to form the hero's legacy. The physical embodiment of the items and deeds associated with the hero in question. In short, the protection was due to what Lancer knew was a Noble Phantasm.

Of course, any servant in Lancer's place could have easily gleaned as much after the battle. This information still didn't tell him much about the nature of his enemy's protection. In fact, Lancer wasn't even quite sure he was right in his assumption. There was a possibility that it was not a mysterious power of legend that protected the enemy, but rather it was merely a skill he had picked up in life. Considering how dangerous this Saber had proved to be in their very brief duel, he was not very eager to get another chance to study it closely.

"Something on your mind?" the old man asked, noting Lancer had appeared to be in deep thought.

"Just wondering, Master. Wondering… what exactly I am facing this time."

There was something about being addressed as 'Master', the man thought, which made him feel satisfied. If anything, he felt it suited him better than his own name. Johannes had always sounded terribly feminine to him, and Fleischer just didn't sound very appealing, nor did he enjoy the fact that it implied his being a "butcher". He had no love of killing, after all: he did it only because, in his current circumstances, it was unavoidable.

"It's far too soon in the war for us to be sure of that. Technically, the war hasn't even started, since there yet remain servants to summon before all seven are here." Johannes said, though that made neither of them feel very comfortable about their lack of knowledge.

"As you say, Master."

And with that said, the two said not a word save for in their own heads, quietly slipping away into the night.


	2. Chapter 2: Horae Mysteria

The morning sun bore with it no reminder of the conflicts of the previous night. In the daylight hours, the town bustled with men and women, going about their business unaware of the strange things taking place in the shadows. The sun drifted slowly in the sky, the people went perfunctorily about their routines. Soon enough, the sunset had sunk below the horizon, and night was upon this place once more.

Night: The time where the most devilish secrets can be openly displayed. The time of thieves, of assassins, and most importantly, of magi. Magi such as the man who sat idly on the cold stone of the church tower, amusing himself by lighting and putting out his cigarette with a motion of the fingers.

It was apparent that he was awaiting someone, or something, by the way he glanced at his watch every few minutes. His face likewise displayed signs of impatience. He would occasionally pull out a new cigarette when the old one burned down to uselessness, but otherwise he did nothing in particular. Suddenly, as if some unknown cue had been given, he got up from where he had been sitting cross-legged, and tossed his still-burning cigarette down to the pavement far below.

"Took you long enough," he said, although there appeared to be no-one near him that he could be referring to. That is, at the moment he said it. Whether it was because of precognition, or because he could sense the other person before they could be seen, the one he had been referring to appeared a moment later. His dark, almost pitch-black skin appeared to slither out of the night's darkness as if it were a cloak. Even the silk he wore over his lithe body seemed to be in accord with the unnatural color of his flesh. The only part of his body which could be seen beyond a silhouette was a mask covering his face, which had a bright silvery design on it resembling a spider over a web.

The literally black man made an overly-dramatic bowing gesture, with the obvious intent to mock the other man's annoyed tone. As if he weren't clear enough, he even threw in a sarcastic "Oh forgive me, _master_."

"Say whatever the hell you want, Assassin," the master said, turning towards his servant. He pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket, revealing intricate tattoos running across his arm. "As long as you remember who has these on them,"

"Certainly," Assassin responded, his wicked grin almost visible through his mask just from the delight in his voice. Out of nowhere, two wicked looking knives, curved like fangs, materialized in his hands. He threw them into the air, causing them to twirl twice before he once again caught them by the hilt.

"I suppose you want to know what I learned while I was out?" he asked as he launched the weapons upwards once again.

"Obviously," said the master of Assassin, deciding to once again light up a cigarette. The familiar feeling of smoke entering the lungs settled down his nerves.

"Well, the first thing I think you'd like to hear about is that the fighting's already started, even though the War technically hasn't."

The man raised a quizzical eyebrow at Assassin. "I guess it was bound to happen, considering this last servant sure is taking its sweet time getting summoned."

"Of course, that's good news for us…" Assassin continued, "After all, the sooner they turn their attention towards each other, the sooner I can creep in and get them while their backs are turned," he said, and then let out a small giggle that was muffled by his mask.

"It also means we can't waste any more time just doing reconnaissance. They might turn on us as easily as on anyone else if we get caught."

"_If we get caught? _You don't seem to know who I am, do you?" Assassin said, followed by more laughter.

"Quite frankly, I wish I didn't," his Master rebutted. "That would at least make you a proper Assassin."

Assassin continued to find it all very amusing for the next few moments. Then, abruptly, his laughter ceased. Although his eyes could barely be seen in the darkness, his master could still see, or perhaps sense, they had gained a serious look. The knives he had been twirling he now gripped firmly in his hands.

"I also _coincidentally_ ran into a certain someone. You know who I'm talking about," Assassin said in a tone that clashed against his earlier care-free musings. The master knew exactly who Assassin meant, and had known this was likely to occur, yet still had hoped otherwise.

"He's waiting in the building below us," Assassin said as a response to a question which had not needed asking. With that said, he once again slipped into the shadows, being consumed by them like the flames consumed the cigarette between his master's lips.

The innards of the church were as full of life as the streets outside, or rather devoid of it. With no daylight radiating through the stained glass windows or people gathered to pray, the place certainly had a very sinister feel to it. The only light to be seen was a single candle, whose glow did nothing but add to the atmosphere of dread. It helped not that the man holding the candle had an almost vampiric visage, with his dark cloak bearing strange red symbols, and his black hair which slightly shone in the weak light.

"I'm glad you could make it, Hakai." The cloaked man said in his deep, powerful voice. As he did so, he placed his candle on the altar before him, and turned to face his visitor.

"Spare me the formalities, old man," Hakai replied, irritation evident in his tone.

The 'old man', actually not appearing much less youthful than Hakai, chuckled in the fashion of a man who is not truly amused. He spread his arms out, as if giving some sort of priestly welcoming gesture. "Come now, no need to be so rude. I come only to offer you some advice as a teacher to his student."

Hakai, who by now had walked down the alley between the pews, was only a few steps away from the one he was speaking to.

"Let's keep this short. What the hell do you want?" Hakai said, tendrils of smoke escaping his mouth between each word.

The other man still kept up his appearance of good will as he spoke through a smile, saying "Very well, if it would please you that we get to business right away."

He began to pace to the side, coming to one of the towering windows depicting Biblical images. He tilted his head up, eyeing the weak beams of moonlight that escaped the night and passed through the glass.

"I'm sure you know we're running behind schedule," he began to explain, extending a hand to make contact with the chilly surface of the window. "The seventh master has been chosen, but he has yet to summon his servant."

Hakai, who was looking at the burning candle before him rather than the one he was speaking with, seemed to understand the implications of the words spoken to him.

"You want me and Assassin to go force him into action," he said, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

"…yes, that would be the basics of it," the old man confirmed. "Do whatever you want to him afterwards. As long as it is done only _after _he has performed the summoning."

Hakai tore his eyes from the hypnotic rhythm of the bobbing flame that danced above the candle, turning himself towards the tall wooden doors he had entered through a short time ago. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you for your time," the man said, although Hakai seemed to pay him no attention. Right as he pushed against the doors, allowing the chill of the night wind to sweep into the hall, he snapped the fingers of his free hand. The candle which had been burning slowly and steadily was suddenly consumed in a miniature inferno, leaving nothing to burn a moment later. The old man remained there, alone in the darkness, still keeping his smile up.


End file.
